


blurred around the edges

by TemporaryDysphoria



Category: Lupin III
Genre: Alcohol, I'll admit I'm hazy on the 'legitimate' definition of shotgunning, Kissing, M/M, Making Out, Marijuana, Recreational Drug Use, Smoking, artistic licence has been taken here, maybe shotgunning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-02
Updated: 2020-07-02
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:00:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25030525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TemporaryDysphoria/pseuds/TemporaryDysphoria
Summary: Once, twice, finally it lights, and then all Goemon can see is the the cherry-red end of a crumpled ciggarette.It tastes better when it comes from you.
Relationships: Ishikawa Goemon XIII/Jigen Daisuke
Comments: 13
Kudos: 84





	blurred around the edges

Jigen is unconsciously affectionate when he's drunk.

Goemon knows this, has done for years. It's like clockwork. The bottle lands with a clink on the table. The lighter makes a metallic click and the acrid (yet strangely comforting) smell of smoke wafts around them.

Then it will be something small. A finger or two, just resting lightly on Goemon's shoulder, tapping a rhythm that makes sense only to it's owner. Minutes will pass, then the fingers might become a hand, might become an arm. Once a leg was swung up over Goemon's lap as Jigen laid back fully over the edge of the couch, vertebrae cracking as he stretched. 

Goemon doesn't indulge in alcohol often. He doesn't need to, and it's not something that interests him very much. Tonight he'd been drinking with Fujiko, which was almost never a good idea. He can still taste the wine in the back of his throat, and his mind feels blurred, as though he's processing everything at half speed. He knows Jigen is beside him, but he has to check because the gunman is so still. Jigen looks different in the half light, through the filter of inebriation. His curtain beard looms comically out from his chin, and the rest of his features take on angular proportions. Sharp, where they would be soft on any other person. 

He smiles, and Goemon can almost imagine pointed canines, even though there are none. He says, something. Goemon registers nothing but a low rumble. The words might be slurred, or maybe time is simply travelling too slowly for him to comprehend. 

The scotch bottle hits the table with a soft clink. Jigen has long fingers, the kind that seem like they have one too many joints in them. Those same fingers make the lighter click. Once, twice, finally it lights, and then all Goemon can see is the the cherry-red end of a crumpled ciggarette. 

Jigen inhales and the cigarette burns bright like a star. It's fascinating. Goemon leans closer and closer, watching as the ash inevitably topples and falls, no longer red but a dull dusty grey. Lifeless. 

"Do you want one?" Jigen rumbles slowly, an eyebrow raised in a silent question. 

Goemon considers the offer. The earthy tobacco smell is all around him, it will stick to him for days. 

"I am content," he begins, the words feeling awkward in his mouth after such a long period of silence, "with watching for the moment."

Jigen shrugs, a smooth movement that looks out of place from such angular shoulders. He slides across the sofa, no longer facing Goemon, but instead beside him. His thigh connects with Goemons knees, and he groans as he relaxes back, neck stretching in an almost indecent manner. 

Goemon watches, spellbound until the cigarette is nothing more than a filter. Until Jigen stubs it out on his ashtray, leaving it crumpled beyond recognition. Another appears in it's place, though this one is not his usual brand. 

The lighter clicks again, and a different smell envelopes them in the small room. 

"Where did you-?"

"Fujiko." Jigen says with a wry grin. 

He pockets the lighter and his fingers find a home against Goemons right patella, softly following the curvature of the joint. 

"Do you want some of this one?" Jigen asks, and with the way his fingers are tracing abstract patterns on Goemons thigh, he's not sure if Jigen is talking about the smoke or something else. 

Everything is blurred around the edges. Questions that should have at most two answers, have four or five. Jigen doesn't push. He takes a long drag and exhales a lazy smoke ring into the air above him. The movement of his thin lips draw Goemon's attention and suddenly the answer becomes clear. He _craves_. 

"Maybe," Jigen cocks an eyebrow at the words, "a small amount."

He passes the joint across, and even as Goemon takes it between two fingers its too late for him to realise that this wasn't what he was asking for. Goemon doesn't smoke much either. The smoke is thick and heavy in his mouth, and it makes him cough and splutter. Lupin would have laughed at the sight, Fujiko would have giggled primly. Jigen does neither - just regards him closely as he tries to catch his elusive breath. 

"Too quick on the draw," Jigen murmurs, vowels stretching into a drawl-like consistency, "slow it up, cowboy."

"I don't know that I-"

"Let me help." 

Jigen plucks the joint from Goemon's grip and brings it back to his lips. Goemon chases the smoke with his fingers until they tangle in Jigen's beard. 

"I want," he begins, suddenly unsure whether he wants to let that train of thought see the light of day. 

Jigen leans forward, mouth tightly shut. When he opens his lips just barely, wisps of smoke escape, tiny tendrils of white. 

"I know" Jigen says, and then he kisses him. 

It's a kiss, but not a kiss. It's a kiss in the sense that two sets of mouths meet. In the sense that those two sets of mouths open to greet each other like old friends who haven't done this in far, _far_ too long. It's not a kiss when Jigen forecfully exhales as Goemon inhales. When Goemon _feels_ the smoke slide down into his lungs, into deep dark crevices. It's a _not-kiss_ , and it's one that is over far too soon. Jigen smiles as Goemon exhales smoke between them with a measured breath. 

"Again?" Jigen murmurs, already bringing the joint to his lips once more. 

Goemon can't tear his eyes away.

"Again," he agrees, and Jigen leans forward.

With smoke between them and surrounding them, everything takes on a surreal quality. Jigen no longer seems quite so angular when Goemon can run his hands through a rugged beard to reach a smooth cheekbone; when he can trace an external jugular vein as far down the slim neck as he can before his fingers start to blur, much like his traitorous vision. 

Jigen's arm moves in his peripheral vision, and Goemon's limbs start to make their own decisions, start to work on their own accord. Fingers tighten around a thin wrist, and lower the joint until its lying back in its ashtray. Jigen looks at him steadily, with a single raised eyebrow. 

"Again?" Goemon asks, and confusion flashes across Jigen's features for a brief moment. Then his eyes drop down to Goemon's lips and he lifts the hand that was holding the joint up to thumb gently at the edge of Goemon's mouth. 

"Again," he agrees, and then he leans forward. 


End file.
